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SAINT  :  GREG- 
ORY'S :  GVEST 
AND  :  RECENT 


POEMS 


BY  :  JOHN  :  GREEN- 
LEAF  :  WHITTIER 

§©<§<§©  A  .  D  .  ®§  •-• 


MDCCCLXXXVI. 


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SAINT   GREGORY'S   GUEST 
AND  RECENT  POEMS 


BY 


JOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1886, 
BY  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


To 
GEN.  S.  C.  AEMSTRONG, 

OF  HAMPTON,  VA. 

Whose  generous  and  self-denying  labors  for  the  elevation 

of  two  races  have  enlisted  my  sympathies  and 

commanded  my  admiration, 

I  offer  this  Volume. 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 


I  AM  well  aware  that  for  the  publication  of 
a  new  volume  of  verse,  when  one  is  on  the  verge 
of  fourscore,  no  adequate  excuse  can  be  offered. 
I  frankly  own  that  I  know  of  no  call  for  such 
an  act  of  temerity.  I  have  consulted  nobody  as 
to  its  expediency  •  and  I  cannot  even  adopt  the 
doubtful  apology  of  Bunyan :  — 

"  Some  said,  John,  print  it ;  others  said  not  so  : 
Some  said  it  might  do  good,  others  said  no." 

In  taking  upon  myself  the  responsibility,  I  am 
influenced  solely  by  a  not  unnatural  wish  to 
speak  once  more  to  those  who  have  been  pleased 
to  listen  to  me  heretofore,  and  to  whom  this 
little  belated  collection  may  not  be  without  in- 
terest. J.  G.  W. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

SAINT  GREGORY'S  GUEST 9 

REVELATION 13 

ADJUSTMENT 17 

THE  WOOD  GIANT 20 

THE  HOMESTEAD «...  24 

BIRCHBROOK  MILL 29 

How  THE  ROBIN  CAME 33 

SWEET  FERN 37 

BANISHED  FROM  MASSACHUSETTS 40 

THE  Two  ELIZABETHS 45 

THE  REUNION 52 

REQUITAL 56 

THE  LIGHT  THAT  is  FELT 58 

THE  Two  LOVES 59 

AN  EASTER  FLOWER  GIFT 61 

MULFORD      ....                62 

AN  ARTIST  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL 63 

HYMNS  OF  THE  BRAHMO  SOMAJ 64 


SAINT  GREGORY'S  GUEST. 


A  TALE  for  Kornan  guides  to  tell 
To  careless,  sight-worn  travellers  still, 

Who  pause  beside  the  narrow  cell 
Of  Gregory  on  the  Cselian  Hill. 

One  day  before  the  monk's  door  came 
A  beggar,  stretching  empty  palms, 

Fainting  and  fast-sick,  in  the  name 
Of  the  Most  Holy  asking  alms. 

And  the  monk  answered,  "  All  I  have 
In  this  poor  cell  of  mine  I  give, 

The  silver  cup  my  mother  gave; 

In  Christ's  name  take  thou  it,  and  live.9' 


10  SAINT  GREGORY'S  GUEST. 

Years  passed;  and,  called  at  last  to  bear 
The  pastoral  crook  and  keys  of  Kome, 

The  poor  monk,  in  Saint  Peter's  chair, 
Sat  the  crowned  lord  of  Christendom, 

"Prepare  a  feast,"  Saint  Gregory  cried, 
"And  let  twelve  beggars  sit  thereat." 

The  beggars  came,  and  one  beside, 
An  unknown  stranger,  with  them  sat. 

"I  asked  thee  not,"  the  Pontiff  spake, 
"  O  stranger ;  but  if  need  be  thine, 

I  bid  thee  welcome,  for  the  sake 

Of  Him  who  is  thy  Lord  and  mine." 

A  grave,  calm  face  the  stranger  raised, 
Like  His  who  on  Gennesaret  trod, 

Or  His  on  whom  the  Chaldeans  gazed, 
Whose  form  was  as  the  Son  of  God. 

"Know'st  thou,"  he  said,  "thy  gift  of  old?" 
And  in  the  hand  he  lifted  up 


SAINT  GREGORY'S  GUEST.  11 

The  Pontiff  marvelled  to  behold 
Once  more  his  mother's  silver  cup. 

"Thy  prayers  and  alms  have  risen,  and  bloom 
Sweetly  among  the  flowers  of  heaven. 

I  am  The  Wonderful,  through  whom 
Whate'er  thou  askest  shall  be  given." 

He  spake  and  vanished.     Gregory  fell 
With  his  twelve  guests  in  mute  accord 

Prone  on  their  faces,  knowing  well 
Their  eyes  of  flesh  had  seen  the  Lord. 

The  old-time  legend  is  not  vain; 

Nor  vain  thy  art,  Verona's  Paul, 
Telling  it  o'er  and  o'er  again 

On  gray  Vicenza's  frescoed  waU. 

Still  wheresoever  pity  shares 

Its  bread  with  sorrow,  want,  and  sin, 

And  love  the  beggar's  feast  prepares, 
The  uninvited  Guest  comes  in. 


12  SAINT  GREGORY'S  GUEST. 

Unheard,  because  our  ears  are  dull, 
Unseen,  because  our  eyes  are  dim, 

He  walks  our  earth,  The  Wonderful, 
And  all  good  deeds  are  done  to  Him. 


REVELATION. 

"  And  I  went  into  the  Vale  of  Beavor,  and  as  I  went  I  preached  repent- 
ance to  the  people.  And  one  morning,  sitting  by  the  fire,  a  great  cloud 
came  over  me,  and  a  temptation  beset  me.  And  it  was  said :  All  things 
come  by  Nature  ;  and  the  Elements  and  the  Stars  came  over  me.  And  as 
I  sat  still  and  let  it  alone,  a  living  hope  arose  in  me,  and  a  true  Voice 
which  said  :  There  is  a  living  God  who  made  all  things.  And  immedi- 
ately the  cloud  and  the  temptation  vanished,  and  Life  rose  over  all,  and 
my  heart  was  glad  and  I  praised  the  Living  God." — Journal  of  George 
Fox,  1690. 

STILL,  as  of  old,  in  Beavor's  Vale, 
O  man  of  God!  our  hope  and  faith 

The  Elements  and  Stars  assail, 

And  the  awed  spirit  holds  its  breath, 
Blown  over  by  a  wind  of  death. 

Takes  Nature  thought  for  such  as  we, 
What  place  her  human  atom  fills, 

The  weed-drift  of  her  careless  sea, 
The  mist  on  her  unheeding  hills? 
What  recks  she  of  our  helpless  wills? 


14  REVELATION. 

Strange  god  of  Force,  with  fear,  not  love, 
Its  trembling  worshipper!     Can  prayer 

Eeach  the  shut  ear  of  Fate,  or  move 
Unpitying  Energy  to  spare? 
What  doth  the  cosmic  Vastness  care? 

In  vain  to  this  dread  Unconcern 
For  the  All-Father's  love  we  look; 

In  vain,  in  quest  of  it,  we  turn 

The  storied  leaves  of  Nature's  book, 
The  prints  her  rocky  tablets  took. 

I  pray  for  faith,  I  long  to  trust; 
I  listen  with  my  heart,  and  hear 

A  Voice  without  a  sounds    "Be  just, 
Be  true,  be  merciful,  revere 
The  Word  within  thee:  God  is  near! 

"A  light  to  sky  and  earth  unknown 

Pales  all  their  lights:  a  mightier  force 
Than  theirs  the  powers  of  Nature  own, 
And,  to  its  goal  as  at  its  source, 
His  Spirit  moves  the  Universe. 


REVELATION.  15 

"  Believe  and  trust.     Through  stars  and  suns, 
Through   life  and  death,  through  soul  and 
sense, 

His  wise,  paternal  purpose  runs; 
The  darkness  of  His  providence 
Is  star-lit  with  benign  intents." 

0  joy  supreme!     I  know  the  Voice, 
Like  none  beside  on  earth  or  sea ; 

Yea,  more,  O  soul  of  mine,  rejoice, 
By  all  that  He  requires  of  me, 
I  know  what  God  himself  must  be. 

No  picture  to  my  aid  I  call, 

I  shape  no  image  in  my  prayer ; 

1  only  know  in  Him  is  all 

Of  life,  light,  beauty,  everywhere, 
Eternal  Goodness  here  and  there! 

I  know  He  is,  and  what  He  is, 

Whose  one  great  purpose  is  the  good 
Of  all.     I  rest  my  soul  on  His 


16  REVELATION. 

Immortal  Love  and  Fatherhood; 

And  trust  Him,  as  His  children  should, 

I  fear  no  more.     The  clouded  face 

Of  Nature  smiles ;  through  all  her  things 

Of  time  and  space  and  sense  I  trace 
The  moving  of  the  Spirit's  wings, 
And  hear  the  song  of  hope  she  sings. 


ADJUSTMENT. 

THE  tree  of  Faith   its  bare,  dry  boughs  must 

shed 
That    nearer    heaven   the    living   ones    may 

climb ; 
The  false  must  fail,  though  from  our  shores 

of  time 
The   old   lament   be   heard,  —  "Great  Pan   is 

dead!" 
That    wail    is    Error's,    from    his    high    place 

hurled  ; 

This  sharp  recoil  is  Evil  undertrod ; 
Our  time's  unrest,  an  angel  sent  of  God 
Troubling  with  life  the  waters  of  the  world. 
Even   as    they   list   the   winds    of  the    Spirit 

blow 

To  turn  or  break  our  century-rusted  vanes; 
Sands    shift    and    waste;    the    rock    alone 
remains 


18  ADJUSTMENT. 

Where,  led  of  Heaven,  the  strong  tides  come 
and  go, 

And  storm-clouds,  rent  by  thunderbolt  and 
wind, 

Leave,  free  of  mist,  the  permanent  stars  be- 
hind. 

Therefore  I  trust,  although  to  outward  sense 
Both  true   and   false    seem   shaken ;   I   will 

hold 

With  newer  light  my  reverence  for  the  old, 
And  calmly  wait  the  births  of  Providence. 
No    gain  is   lost;    the    clear-eyed    saints   look 

down 
Untroubled  on  the  wreck  of   schemes  and 

creeds ; 

Love  yet  remains,  its  rosary  of  good  deeds 
Counting  in  task-field   and  o'er  peopled  town; 
Truth  has   charmed  life;    the    Inward   Word 

survives, 

And,  day  by  day,  its  revelation  brings ; 
Faith,  hope,  and  charity,  whatsoever  things 


ADJUSTMENT.  19 

Which  cannot  be  shaken,    stand.     Still  holy 

lives 

Eeveal  the  Christ  of  whom  the  letter  told, 
And  the  new  gospel  verifies  the  old. 


THE  WOOD  GIANT. 

FROM  Alton  Bay  to  Sandwich  Dome, 

From  Mad  to  Saco  river, 
For  patriarchs  of  the  primal  wood 

We  sought  with  vain  endeavor. 

And  then  we  said :  "  The  giants  old 

Are  lost  beyond  retrieval; 
This  pigmy  growth  the  axe  has  spared 

Is  not  the  wood  primeval. 

"Look  where  we  will  o'er  vale  and  hill, 

How  idle  are  our  searches 
For  broad-girthed  maples,  wide-limbed  oaks, 
Centennial  pines  and  birches ! 

"Their  tortured  limbs  the  axe  and  saw 
Have  changed  to  beams  and  trestles; 


THE   WOOD  GIANT.  21 

They  rest  in  walls,  they  float  on  seas, 
They  rot  in  sunken  vessels. 

"This  shorn  and  wasted  mountain  land 

Of  underbrush  and  boulder, — 
Who  thinks  to  see  its  full-grown  tree 
Must  live  a  century  older." 

At  last  to  us  a  woodland  path, 

To  open  sunset  leading, 
Revealed  the  Anakim  of  pines 

Our  wildest  wish  exceeding. 

Alone,  the  level  sun  before; 

Below,  the  lake's  green  islands; 
Beyond,  in  misty  distance  dim, 

The  rugged  Northern  Highlands. 

Dark  Titan  on  his  Sunset  Hill 

Of  time  and  change  defiant  I 
How  dwarfed  the  common  woodland  seemed, 

Before  the  old-time  giant! 


22  THE   WOOD  GIANT. 

What  marvel  that,  in  simpler  days 
Of  the  world's  early  childhood, 

Men  crowned  with  garlands,  gifts,  and  praise 
Such  monarchs  of  the  wild-wood  ? 

That  Tyrian  maids  with  flower  and  song 
Danced  through  the  hill  grove's  spaces, 

And  hoary-bearded  Druids  found 
In  woods  their  holy  places? 

With  somewhat  of  that  Pagan  awe 
With  Christian  reverence  blending, 

We  saw  our  pine-tree's  mighty  arms 
Above  our  heads  extending. 

We  heard  his  needles'  mystic  rune, 

Now  rising,  and  now  dying, 
As  erst  Dodona's  priestess  heard 

The  oak  leaves  prophesying. 

Was  it  the  half-unconscious  moan 
Of  one  apart  and  mateless, 


THE  WOOD   GIANT.  23 

The  weariness  of  unshared  power, 
The  loneliness  of  greatness? 

O  dawns  and  sunsets,  lend  to  him 
Your  beauty  and  your  wonder! 

Blithe  sparrow,  sing  thy  summer  song 
His  solemn  shadow  under ! 

Play  lightly  on  his  slender  keys, 

O  wind  of  summer,  waking 
For  hills  like  these  the  sound  of  seas 

On  far-off  beaches  breaking! 

And  let  the  eagle  and  the  crow 

Find  shelter  in  his  branches, 
When  winds  shake  down  his  winter  snow 

In  silver  avalanches. 

The  brave  are  braver  for  their  cheer, 

The  strongest  need  assurance, 
The  sigh  of  longing  makes  not  less 

The  lesson  of  endurance. 


THE  HOMESTEAD. 

AGAINST  the  wooded  hills  it  stands, 
Ghost  of  a  dead  home,  staring  through 

Its  broken  lights  on  wasted  lands 
Where  old-time  harvests  grew. 

Unploughed,  unsown,  by  scythe  unshorn, 
The  poor,  forsaken  farm-fields  lie, 

Once  rich  and  rife  with  golden  corn 
And  pale  green  breadths  of  rye. 

Of  healthful  herb  and  flower  bereft, 
The  garden  plot  no  housewife  keeps; 

Through  weeds  and  tangle  only  left, 
The  snake,  its  tenant,  creeps. 

A  lilac  spray,  once  blossom-clad, 

Sways  bare  before  the  empty  rooms ; 


THE  HOMESTEAD.  25 

Beside  the  roofless  porch  a  sad 
Pathetic  red  rose  blooms. 

His  track,  in  mould  and  dust  of  drouth, 
On  floor  and  hearth  the  squirrel  leaves. 

And  in  the  fireless  chimney's  mouth 
His  web  the  spider  weaves. 

The  leaning  barn,  about  to  fall, 

Resounds  no  more  on  husking  eves ; 

No  cattle  low  in  yard  or  stall, 
No  thresher  beats  his  sheaves. 

So  sad,  so  drear !     It  seems  almost 

Some  haunting  Presence  makes  its  sign ; 

That  down  yon  shadowy  lane  some  ghost 
Might  drive  his  spectral  kine ! 

O  home  so  desolate  and  lorn ! 

Did  all  thy  memories  die  with  thee? 
Were  any  wed,  were  any  born, 

Beneath  this  low  roof -tree  ? 


26  THE  HOMESTEAD. 

Whose  axe  the  wall  of  forest  broke, 
And  let  the  waiting  sunshine  through? 

What  good-wife  sent  the  earliest  smoke 
Up  the  great  chimney  flue? 

Did  rustic  lovers  hither  come? 

Did  maidens,  swaying  back  and  forth 
In  rhythmic  grace,  at  wheel  and  loom, 

Make  light  their  toil  with  mirth? 

Did  child  feet  patter  on  the  stair? 

Did  boyhood  frolic  in  the  snow? 
Did  gray  age,  in  her  elbow  chair, 

Knit,  rocking  to  and  fro? 

The  murmuring  brook,  the  sighing  breeze, 
The  pine's  slow  whisper,  cannot  tell; 

Low  mounds  beneath  the  hemlock-trees 
Keep  the  home  secrets  well. 

Cease,  mother-land,  to  fondly  boast 
Of  sons  far  off  who  strive  and  thrive, 


THE  HOMESTEAD.  27 

Forgetful  that  each  swarming  host 
Must  leave  an  emptier  hive! 

O  wanderers  from  ancestral  soil, 

Leave  noisome  mill  and  chaffering  store ; 

Gird  up  your  loins  for  sturdier  toil, 
And  build  the  home  once  more ! 

Come  back  to  bayberry-scented  slopes, 
And  fragrant  fern,  and  ground-mat  vine ; 

Breathe  airs  blown  over  holt  and  copse 
Sweet  with  black  birch  and  pine. 

What  matter  if  the  gains  are  small 
That  life's  essential  wants  supply? 

Your  homestead's  title  gives  you  all 
That  idle  wealth  can  buy. 

All  that  the  many-dollared  crave, 

The  brick-walled  slaves  of  Change  and  mart, 
Lawns,  trees,  fresh  air,  and  flowers,  you  have, 

More  dear  for  lack  of  art. 


28  THE  HOMESTEAD. 

Your  own  sole  masters,  freedom-willed, 
With  none  to  bid  you  go  or  stay, 

Till  the  old  fields  your  fathers  tilled, 
As  manly  men  as  they ! 

With  skill  that  spares  your  toiling  hands, 
And  chemic  aid  that  science  brings, 

Reclaim  the  waste  and  outworn  lands, 
And  reign  thereon  as  kings ! 


BIRCHBROOK  MILL. 

A  NOTELESS  stream,  the  Birchbrook  runs 

Beneath  its  leaning  trees ; 
That  low,  soft  ripple  is  its  own, 

That  dull  roar  is  the  sea's. 

Of  human  signs  it  sees  alone 
The  distant  church  spire's  tip, 

And,  ghost-like,  on  a  blank  of  gray, 
The  white  sail  of  a  ship. 

No  more  a  toiler  at  the  wheel, 

It  wanders  at  its  will; 
Nor  dam  nor  pond  is  left  to  tell 

Where  once  was  Birchbrook  mill. 

The  timbers  of  that  mill  have  fed 
Long  since  a  farmer's  fires; 


30  BIRCHBROOK  MILL. 

His  doorsteps  are  the  stones  that  ground 
The  harvest  of  his  sires. 

Man  trespassed  here;  but.  Nature  lost 

No  right  of  her  domain; 
She  waited,  and  she  brought  the  old 

Wild  beauty  back  again. 

By  day  the  sunlight  through  the  leaves 
Falls  on  its  moist,  green  sod, 

And  wakes  the  violet  bloom  of  spring 
And  autumn's  golden-rod. 

Its  birches  whisper  to  the  wind, 

The  swallow  dips  her  wings 
In  the  cool  spray,  and  on  its  banks 

The  gray  song-sparrow  sings. 

But  from  it,  when  the  dark  night  falls, 
The  school-girl  shrinks  with  dread; 

The  farmer,  home-bound  from  his  fields. 
Goes  by  with  quickened  tread. 


BIRCHBROOK  MILL.  31 

They  dare  not  pause  to  hear  the  grind 

Of  shadowy  stone  on  stone; 
The  plashing  of  a  water-wheel 

Where  wheel  there  now  is  none. 

Has  not  a  cry  of  pain  been  heard 

Above  the  clattering  mill? 
The  pawing  of  an  unseen  horse, 

Who  waits  his  mistress  still? 

Yet  never  to  the  listener's  eye 
Has  sight  confirmed  the  sound; 

A  wavering  birch  line  marks  alone 
The  vacant  pasture  ground. 

No  ghostly  arms  fling  up  to  heaven 

The  agony  of  prayer; 
No  spectral  steed  impatient  shakes 

His  white  mane  on  the  air. 

The  meaning  of  that  common  dread 
No  tongue  has  fitly  told; 


32  BIRCHBROOK  MILL. 

The  secret  of  the  dark  surmise 
The  brook  and  birches  hold. 

What  nameless  horror  of  the  past 
Broods  here  forever  more? 

What  ghost  his  unforgiven  sin 
Is  grinding  o'er  and  o'er? 

Does,  then,  immortal  memory  play 
The  actor's  tragic  part, 

Eehearsals  of  a  mortal  life 
And  unveiled  human  heart  ? 

God's  pity  spare  a  guilty  soul 

That  drama  of  its  ill, 
And  let  the  scenic  curtain  fall 

On  Birchbrook's  haunted  mill! 


HOW  THE   ROBIN  CAME. 

AN    ALGONQUIN    LEGEND. 

HAPPY  young  friends,  sit  by  me, 
Under  May's  blown  apple-tree, 
While  these  home-birds  in  and  out 
Through  the  blossoms  flit  about. 
Hear  a  story,  strange  and  old, 
By  the  wild  red  Indians  told, 
How  the  robin  came  to  be : 

Once  a  great  chief  left  his  son,  — 
Well-beloved,  his  only  one, — 
When  the  boy  was  well-nigh  grown, 
In  the  trial-lodge  alone. 
Left  for  tortures  long  and  slow 
Youths  like  him  must  undergo, 
Who  their  pride  of  manhood  test, 
Lacking  water,  food,  and  rest. 


34  HOW  THE  ROBIN  CAME. 

Seven  days  the  fast  he  kept, 

Seven  nights  he  never  slept. 

Then  the  young  boy,  wrung  with  pain, 

Weak  from  nature's  overstrain, 

Faltering,  moaned  a  low  complaint : 

"  Spare  me,  father,  for  I  faint ! " 
But  the  chieftain,  haughty-eyed, 
Hid  his  pity  in  his  pride. 

"You  shall  be  a  hunter  good, 
Knowing  never  lack  of  food; 
You  shall  be  a  warrior  great, 
Wise  as  fox  and  strong  as  bear ; 
Many  scalps  your  belt  shall  wear, 
If  with  patient  heart  you  wait 
Bravely  till  your  task  is  done. 
Better  you  should  starving  die 
Than  that  boy  and  squaw  should  cry 
Shame  upon  your  father's  son!  " 

When  next  morn  the  sun's  first  rays 
Glistened  on  the  hemlock  sprays, 
Straight  that  lodge  the  old  chief  sought, 


HOW  THE  ROBIN  CAME.  35 

And  boiled  samp  and  moose  meat  brought. 
"  Rise  and  eat,  my  son !  "  he  said. 
Lo,  he  found  the  poor  boy  dead! 

As  with  grief  his  grave  they  made, 

And  his  bow  beside  him  laid, 

Pipe,  and  knife,  and  wampum-braid, 

On  the  lodge-top  overhead, 

Preening  smooth  its  breast  of  red 

And  the  brown  coat  that  it  wore, 

Sat  a  bird,  unknown  before. 

And  as  if  with  human  tongue, 
"  Mourn  me  not,"  it  said,  or  sung ; 
"I,  a  bird,  am  still  your  son, 

Happier  than  if  hunter  fleet, 

Or  a  brave,  before  your  feet 

Laying  scalps  in  battle  won. 

Friend  of  man,  my  song  shall  cheer 

Lodge  and  corn-land ;  hovering  near, 

To  each  wigwam  I  shall  bring 

Tidings  of  the  coming  spring; 

Every  child  my  voice  shall  know 


36  HOW  THE  ROBIN  CAME. 

In  the  moon  of  melting  snow, 

When  the  maple's  red  bud  swells, 

And  the  wind-flower  lifts  its  bells. 

As  their  fond  companion 

Men  shall  henceforth  own  your  son, 

And  my  song  shall  testify 

That  of  human  kin  am  I." 

Thus  the  Indian  legend  saith 
How,  at  first,  the  robin  came 
With  a  sweeter  life  from  death, 
Bird  for  boy,  and  still  the  same. 
If  my  young  friends  doubt  that  this 
Is  the  robin's  genesis, 
Not  in  vain  is  still  the  myth 
If  a  truth  be  found  therewith: 
Unto  gentleness  belong 
Gifts  unknown  to  pride  and  wrong; 
Happier  far  than  hate  is  praise, — 
He  who  sings  than  he  who  slays. 


SWEET  FERN. 

THE  subtle  power  in  perfume  found 
Nor  priest  nor  sibyl  vainly  learned ; 

On  Grecian  shrine  or  Aztec  mound 
No  censer  idly  burned. 

That  power  the  old-time  worships  knew, 
The  Corybantes'  frenzied  dance, 

The  Pythian  priestess  swooning  through 
The  wonderland  of  trance. 

And  Nature  holds,  in  wood  and  field, 
Her  thousand  sunlit  censers  still; 

To  spells  of  flower  and  shrub  we  yield 
Against  or  with  our  will. 

I  climbed  a  hill  path  strange  and  new 
With  slow  feet,  pausing  at  each  turn; 


38  SWEET  FERN. 

A  sudden  waft  of  west  wind  blew 
The  breath  of  the  sweet  fern. 

That  fragrance  from  my  vision  swept 
The  alien  landscape ;  in  its  stead, 

Up  fairer  hills  of  youth  I  stepped, 
As  light  of  heart  as  tread. 

I  saw  my  boyhood's  lakelet  shine 

Once  more  through  rifts  of  woodland  shade ; 
I  knew  my  river's  winding  line 

By  morning  mist  betrayed. 

With  me  June's  freshness,  lapsing  brook, 
Murmurs  of  leaf  and  bee,  the  call 

Of  birds,  and  one  in  voice  and  look 
In  keeping  with  them  all. 

A  fern  beside  the  way  we  went 

She  plucked,  and,  smiling,  held  it  up, 

While  from  her  hand  the  wild,  sweet  scent 
I  drank  as  from  a  cup. 


SWEET  FERN.  39 

O  potent  witchery  of  smell! 

The  dust-dry  leaves  to  life  return, 
And  she  who  plucked  them  owns  the  spell 

And  lifts  her  ghostly  fern. 

Or  sense  or  spirit?  Who  shall  say 

What  touch  the  chord  of  memory  thrills? 

It  passed,  and  left  the  August  day 
Ablaze  on  lonely  hills. 


BANISHED   FROM  MASSACHUSETTS. 

1660. 

ON   A   PAINTING  BY   E.    A.    ABBEY. 

OVER  the  threshold  of  his  pleasant  home 
Set    in    green   clearings   passed    the    exiled 

Friend, 

In  simple  trust,  misdoubting  not  the  end. 
44  Dear   heart   of   mine  !  "   he   said,  "  the   time 

has  come 
To    trust    the    Lord    for    shelter."    One    long 

gaze 
The    good    wife    turned    on    each    familiar 

thing,— 

The  lowing  kine,  the  orchard  blossoming, 
The   open   door   that   showed   the   hearth-fire's 

blaze, — 
And  calmly  answered,  "  Yes,  He  will  provide." 


BANISHED  FROM  MASSACHUSETTS.      41 

Silent  and  slow  they  crossed  the  homestead's 

bound, 

Lingering  the  longest  by  their  child's  grave- 
mound. 
"  Move   on,   or   stay    and   hang ! "   the    sheriff 

cried. 
They    left    behind   them   more    than    home   or 

land, 
And  set  sad  faces  to  an  alien  strand. 

Safer    with    winds    and    waves    than     human 

wrath, 
With  ravening  wolves  than  those  whose  zeal 

for  God 

Was  cruelty  to  man,  the  exiles  trod 
Drear  leagues  of  forest  without  guide  or  path, 
Or  launching  frail  boats  on  the  uncharted  sea, 
Round    storm-vexed   capes,    whose    teeth   of 

granite  ground 
The  waves  to  foam,  their  perilous  way  they 

wound, 
Enduring  all  things  so  their  souls  were  free. 


42      BANISHED  FROM  MASSACHUSETTS. 

Oh,  true  confessors,  shaming  them  who  did 
Anew  the  wrong  their  Pilgrim  Fathers  bore! 
For  you  the  Mayflower  spread  her  sail  once 

more, 

Freighted  with  souls,  to  all  that  duty  bid 
Faithful    as    they    who    sought    an    unknown 

land, 

O'er    wintry    seas,    from    Holland's   Hook    of 
Sand! 

So    from    his    lost    home    to    the    darkening 

main, 
Bodeful    of    storm,    stout    Macey    held    his 

way, 
And,    when   the    green    shore   blended   with 

the  gray, 
His   poor   wife  moaned :    "  Let    us   turn    back 

again." 
"  Nay,   woman,   weak    of    faith,  kneel   down," 

said  he, 

"  And   say   thy   prayers :   the   Lord   himself 
will  steer; 


BANISHED  FROM  MASSACHUSETTS.       43 

And    led   by    Him,   nor   man    nor   devils   I 

fear !  "  3 

So  the  gray  Southwicks,  from  a  rainy  sea, 
Saw,    far    and  faint,   the    loom    of   land,    and 

gave 
With     feeble    voices     thanks     for    friendly 

ground 

Whereon  to  rest  their  weary  feet,  and  found 
A  peaceful  death-bed  and  a  quiet  grave 
Where,  ocean-walled,  and  wiser  than  his  age, 
The  lord  of  Shelter  scorned  the  bigot's  rage. 

Aquidneck's  isle,  Nantucket's  lonely  shores, 
And  Indian-haunted  Narragansett  saw 
The  way-worn  travellers   round   their   camp- 
fire  draw, 

Or  heard  the  plashing  of  their  weary  oars. 


1  "  He  [Macey]  shook  the  dust  from  off  his  feet,  and  departed  with  all 
his  worldly  goods  and  his  family.  He  encountered  a  severe  storm,  and 
his  wife,  influenced  by  some  omens  of  disaster,  besought  him  to  put  back. 
He  told  her  not  to  fear,  for  his  faith  was  perfect.  But  she  entreated  him 
again.  Then  the  spirit  that  impelled  him  broke  forth  :  '  Woman,  go  be- 
low and  seek  thy  God.  I  fear  not  the  witches  on  earth,  or  the  devils  in 
hell ! "'  —  Life  of  Robert  Pike,  page  55. 


44      BANISHED  FROM  MASSACHUSETTS. 

And  every  place  whereon  they  rested  grew 
Happier  for  pure  and  gracious   womanhood, 
And  men  whose   names   for   stainless   honor 

stood, 

Founders  of  States  and  rulers  wise  and  true. 
The  Muse  of  history  yet  shall  make  amends 
To    those    who    freedom,  peace,  and  justice 

taught, 
Beyond    their    dark    age    led    the    van    of 

thought, 

And  left  unforfeited  the  name  of  Friends. 
Oh  mother  State,  how  foiled  was  thy  design! 
The  gain  was  theirs,  the  loss  alone  was  thine. 


THE  TWO  ELIZABETHS. 

Read  at  the  unveiling  of  the  bust  of  Elizabeth  Fry  at  the  Friends' 
School,  Providence,  R.  I. 

A.  D.  1209. 

AMIDST  Thuringia's  wooded  hills  she  dwelt, 
A  high-born  princess,  servant  of  the  poor, 
Sweetening  with   gracious  words   the   food  she 

dealt 

To  starving  throngs  at  Wartburg's  blazoned 
door. 

A  blinded  zealot  held  her  soul  in  chains, 
Cramped    the    sweet    nature    that   he    could 
not  kill, 

Scarred  her  fair  body  with  his  penance-pains, 
And  gauged  her  conscience  by  his  narrow  will. 

God  gave  her  gifts  of  beauty  and  of  grace, 
With  fast  and  vigil  she  denied  them  all ; 


46  THE  TWO  ELIZABETHS. 

Unquestioning,  with  sad,  pathetic  face, 

She    followed   meekly   at   her   stern    guide's 
caU. 

So  drooped  and  died   her  home-blown  rose  of 

bliss 

In  the  chill  rigor  of  a  discipline 
That  turned  her  fond  lips  from  her  children's 

kiss, 
And  made  her  joy  of  motherhood  a  sin. 

To  their  sad  level  by  compassion  led, 

One    with    the    low    and    vile    herself    she 

made. 
While  thankless  misery  mocked  the  hand  that 

fed, 

And   laughed  to   scorn  her   piteous  masque- 
rade. 

But  still,  with  patience  that  outwearied  hate, 
She   gave    her    all   while    yet    she    had    to 
give; 


THE  TWO  ELIZABETHS.  47 

And  then  her  empty  hands,  importunate, 
In    prayer    she    lifted  that  the   poor  might 
live. 

Sore  pressed  by  grief,  and  wrongs  more   hard 

to  bear, 

And   dwarfed   and  stifled  by  a    harsh  con- 
trol, 
She  kept  life   fragrant  with   good    deeds    and 

prayer, 

And  fresh  and  pure  the  white  flower  of  her 
soul. 

Death  found  her  busy  at  her  task:  one  word 

Alone  she  uttered  as  she  paused  to  die, 
"  Silence  !  "  —  then  listened   even  as   one  who 

heard 

With   song   and   wing   the    angels    drawing 
nigh  I 

Now  Fra  Angelico's  roses  fill  her  hands, 
And,  on  Murillo's  canvas,  Want  and  Pain 


48  THE  TWO  ELIZABETHS. 

Kneel  at  her  feet.      Her  marble  image  stands 
Worshipped  and  crowned  in  Marburg's  holy 
fane. 

Yea,  wheresoe'er  her  Church  its  cross  uprears, 
Wide  as  the  world  her  story  still  is  told ; 

In   manhood's  reverence,  woman's  prayers  and 

tears, 
She  lives  again  whose  grave  is  centuries  old. 

And  still,  despite  the  weakness  or  the  blame 
Of  blind  submission  to  the  blind,  she  hath 

A  tender  place  in  hearts  of  every  name, 
And  more  than  Rome  owns  Saint  Elizabeth ! 

A.  D.  1780. 
Slow  ages  passed :  and  lo !  another  came, 

An  English  matron,  in  whose  simple  faith 
Nor  priestly  rule  nor  ritual  had  claim, 

A  plain,  uncanonized  Elizabeth. 

No  sackcloth  robe,  nor  ashen-sprinkled  hair, 
Nor  wasting  fast,  nor  scourge,  nor  vigil  long, 


THE  TWO  ELIZABETHS.  49 

Marred   her  calm   presence*     God    had   made 

her  fair, 
And  she  could  do  His  goodly  work  no  wrong. 

Their  yoke  is  easy  and  their  burden  light 
Whose  sole  confessor  is  the  Christ  of  God; 

Her  quiet  trust  and  faith  transcending  sight 
Smoothed  to  her  feet  the  difficult  paths  she 
trod. 

And  there  she  walked,  as  duty  bade  her  go, 
Safe  and  unsullied  as  a  cloistered  nun, 

Shamed  with  her  plainness    Fashion's    gaudy 

show, 
And  overcame  the  world  she  did  not  shun. 

In  Earlham's  bowers,  in  Plashet's  liberal  hall, 
In  the  great  city's  restless  crowd  and  din, 

Her  ear  was  open  to  the  Master's  call, 

And  knew  the  summons  of  His  voice  within. 

Tender  as  mother,  beautiful  as  wife, 

Amidst  the  throngs  of   prisoned   crime   she 
stood, 


50  THE   TWO  ELIZABETHS. 

In  modest  raiment  faultless  as  her  life, 

The    type    of    England's    worthiest   woman- 
hood ! 

To   melt  the  hearts   that  harshness   turned  to 

stone 

The  sweet  persuasion  of  her  lips  sufficed, 
And    guilt,    which    only    hate    and    fear    had 

known, 
Saw  in  her  own  the  pitying  love  of  Christ. 

So  wheresoe'er  the  guiding  Spirit  went 
She  followed,  finding  every  prison  cell 

It  opened  for  her  sacred  as  a  tent 

Pitched  by  Gennesaret  or  by  Jacob's  well. 

And   Pride   and   Fashion   felt  her   strong  ap- 
peal, 
And    priest    and    ruler    marvelled    as    they 

saw 
How   hand   in    hand    went    wisdom  with    her 

zeal, 
And  woman's  pity  kept  the  bounds  of  law. 


THE   TWO  ELIZABETHS.  51 

She   rests   in   God's   peace ;    but   her   memory 

stirs 

The  air  of  earth  as  with  an  angel's  wings, 
And  warms  and  moves  the  hearts  of  men  like 

hers. 
The  sainted  daughter  of  Hungarian  kings. 

United  now,  the  Briton  and  the  Hun, 

Each,  in  her  own  time,  faithful  unto  death, 

Live  sister  souls !  in  name  and  spirit  one, 
Thuringia's  saint  and  our  Elizabeth! 


THE   REUNION. 

Read  September  10, 1885,  to  the  surviving  students  of  Haverhill  Acad- 
emy in  1827-28. 

THE  gulf  of  seven  and  fifty  years 

We  stretch  our  welcoming  hands  across; 
The  distance  but  a  pebble's  toss 

Between  us  and  our  youth  appears. 

For  in  life's  school  we  linger  on 
The  remnant  of  a  once  full  list; 
Conning  our  lessons,  undismissed, 

With  faces  to  the  setting  sun. 

And  some  have  gone  the  unknown  way. 
And  some  await  the  call  to  rest ; 
Who  knoweth  whether  it  is  best 

For  those  who  went  or  those  who  stay? 


THE  REUNION.  53 

And  yet  despite  of  loss  and  ill, 
If  faith  and  love  and  hope  remain, 
Our  length  of  days  is  not  in  vain, 

And  life  is  well  worth  living  still. 

Still  to  a  gracious  Providence 

The  thanks  of  grateful  hearts  are  due, 
For  blessings  when  our  lives  were  new, 

For  all  the  good  vouchsafed  us  since. 

The  pain  that  spared  us  sorer  hurt, 
The  wish  denied,  the  purpose  crossed, 
And  pleasure's  fond  occasions  lost, 

Were  mercies  to  our  small  desert. 

'Tis  something  that  we  wander  back, 
Gray  pilgrims,  to  our  ancient  ways, 
And  tender  memories  of  old  days 

Walk  with  us  by  the  Merrimac ; 

That  even  in  life's  afternoon 

A  sense  of  youth  comes  back  again, 


54  THE  REUNION. 

As  through  this  cool  September  rain 
The  still  green  woodlands  dream  of  June. 

The  eyes  grown  dim  to  present  things 
Have  keener  sight  for  by-gone  years, 
And  sweet  and  clear,  in  deafening  ears, 

The  bird  that  sang  at  morning  sings. 

Dear  comrades,  scattered  wide  and  far, 
Send  from  their  homes  their  kindly  word, 
And  dearer  ones,  unseen,  unheard, 

Smile  on  us  from  some  heavenly  star. 

For  life  and  death  with  God  are  one, 
Unchanged  by  seeming  change  His  care 
And  love  are  round  us  here  and  there ; 

He  breaks  no  thread  His  hand  has  spun. 

Soul  touches  soul,  the  muster  roll 

Of  life  eternal  has  no  gaps ; 

And  after  half  a  century's  lapse 
Our  school-day  ranks  are  closed  and  whole. 


THE  REUNION.  55 

Hail  and  farewell !     We  go  our  way ; 

"Where  shadows  end,  we  trust  in  light; 

The  star  that  ushers  in  the  night 
Is  herald  also  of  the  day! 


REQUITAL. 

As  Islam's  Prophet,  when  his  last  day  drew 
Nigh  to  its  close,  besought  all  men  to  say 
Whom  he  had  wronged,  to  whom  he  then 

should  pay 

A  debt  forgotten,  or  for  pardon  sue, 
And,    through    the    silence    of    his    weeping 

friends, 
A   strange  voice   cried :    "  Thou  owest  me  a 

debt," 

"  Allah  be  praised ! "  he  answered.    "  Even  yet 
He  gives  me  power  to  make  to  thee  amends. 
Oh,  friend !  I  thank  thee  for  thy  timely  word." 
So  runs  the  tale.     Its  lesson  all  may  heed, 
For  all  have  sinned  in  thought,  or  word,  or 
deed, 


REQUITAL.  57 

Or,   like   the    Prophet,   through   neglect   have 

erred. 

All  need  forgiveness,  all  have  debts  to  pay 
Ere  the  night  cometh,  while  it  still  is  day. 


THE  LIGHT  THAT  IS  FELT. 

A  TENDER  child  of  summers  three, 
Seeking  her  little  bed  at  night, 

Paused  on  the  dark  stair  timidly. 
"Oh,  mother!     Take  my  hand,"  said  she, 
"And  then  the  dark  will  all  be  light," 

We  older  children  grope  our  way 

From  dark  behind  to  dark  before; 
And  only  when  our  hands  we  lay, 
Dear  Lord,  in  Thine,  the  night  is  day, 
And  there  is  darkness  nevermore. 

Reach  downward  to  the  sunless  days 
Wherein  our  guides  are  blind  as  we, 

And  faith  is  small  and  hope  delays; 

Take  Thou  the  hands  of  prayer  we  raise, 
And  let  us  feel  the  light  of  Thee ! 


THE  TWO  LOVES. 

SMOOTHING  soft  the  nestling  head 

Of  a  maiden  fancy-led, 

Thus  a  grave-eyed  woman  said : 

"  Richest  gifts  are  those  we  make, 
Dearer  than  the  love  we  take 
That  we  give  for  love's  own  sake. 

"  Well  I  know  the  heart's  unrest ; 
Mine  has  been  the  common  quest 
To  be  loved  and  therefore  blest. 

"  Favors  undeserved  were  mine  ; 
At  my  feet  as  on  a  shrine 
Love  has  laid  its  gifts  divine. 

"Sweet  the  offerings  seemed,  and  yet 
With  their  sweetness  came  regret, 
And  a  sense  of  unpaid  debt. 


60  THE  TWO  LOVES. 

"  Heart  of  mine  unsatisfied, 
Was  it  vanity  or  pride 
That  a  deeper  joy  denied? 

"Hands  that  ope  but  to  receive 
Empty  close;  they  only  live 
Richly  who  can  richly  give. 

"  Still,"  she  sighed,  with  moistening  eyes, 
"  Love  is  sweet  in  any  guise ; 
But  its  best  is  sacrifice! 

"He  who,  giving,  does  not  crave 
Likest  is  to  Him  who  gave 
Life  itself  the  loved  to  save. 

"Love,  that  self -forgetful  gives, 
Sows  surprise  of  ripened  sheaves, 
Late  or  soon  its  own  receives." 


AN  EASTER  FLOWER  GIFT. 

O  DEAREST  bloom  the  seasons  know, 
Flowers  of  the  Resurrection  blow, 

Our  hope  and  faith  restore ; 
And  through  the  bitterness  of  death 
And  loss  and  sorrow,  breathe  a  breath 

Of  life  f orevermore ! 

The  thought  of  Love  Immortal  blends 
With  fond  remembrances  of  friends ; 

In  you,  O  sacred  flowers, 
By  human  love  made  doubly  sweet, 
The  heavenly  and  the  earthly  meet, 

The  heart  of  Christ  and  ours! 


MULFOKD. 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  NATION  " .  AND  "  THE  REPUBLIC 
OF  GOD." 

UNNOTED  as  the  setting  of  a  star 

He    passed;    and    sect   and    party    scarcely 

knew 

When  from  their  midst  a  sage  and  seer  with- 
drew 

To  fitter  audience,  where  the  great  dead  are 
In  God's  republic  of  the  heart  and  mind, 
Leaving  no  purer,  nobler  soul  behind. 


AN  ARTIST  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 

G.   F. 

HAUNTED    of    Beauty,    like    the    marvellous 

youth 
Who   sang  Saint  Agnes'  Eve !     How    passing 

fair 

Her  shapes  took  color  in  thy  homestead  air ! 
How   on   thy    canvas    even   her    dreams   were 

truth ! 

Magician!  who  from  commonest  elements 
Called  up  divine  ideals,  clothed  upon 
By  mystic  lights  soft  blending  into  one 
Womanly  grace  and  child-like  innocence. 
Teacher !  thy  lesson  was  not  given  in  vain. 
Beauty  is  goodness ;  ugliness  is  sin ; 
Art's  place  is  sacred :  nothing  foul  therein 
May  crawl  or  tread  with  bestial  feet  profane. 
If  rightly  choosing  is  the  painter's  test, 
Thy  choice,  O  master,  ever  was  "the  best. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  BRAHMO  SOMAJ.1 

I. 

THE  mercy,  O  Eternal  One! 

By  man  unmeasured  yet, 
In  joy  or  grief,  in  shade  or  sun, 

I  never  will  forget. 
I  give  the  whole,  and  not  a  part, 

Of  all  Thou  gavest  me; 
My  goods,  my  life,  my  soul  and  heart, 

I  yield  them  all  to  Thee! 

ii. 

We  fast  and  plead,  we  weep  and  pray, 
From  morning  until  even ; 

1  I  have  attempted  this  paraphrase  of  the  Hymns  of  the  Brahmo  Somaj 
of  India,  as  I  find  them  in  Mozoomdar's  account  of  the  devotional  exercises 
of  that  remarkable  religious  development  which  has  attracted  far  less 
attention  and  sympathy  from  the  Christian  world  than  it  deserves,  as  a 
fresh  revelation  of  the  direct  action  of  the  Divine  Spirit  upon  the  human 
heart. 


HYMNS  OF  THE  BRAHMO  SOMAJ.       65 

We  feel  to  find  the  holy  way, 

We  knock  at  the  gate  of  heaven ! 
And  when  in  silent  awe  we  wait, 

And  word  and  sign  forbear, 
The  hinges  of  the  golden  gate 

Move,  soundless,  to  our  prayer ! 
Who  hears  the  eternal  harmonies 

Can  heed  no  outward  word ; 
Blind  to  all  else  is  he  who  sees 

The  vision  of  the  Lord! 


in. 


O  soul,  be  patient,  restrain  thy  tears, 

Have  hope,  and  not  despair ; 
As  a  tender  mother  heareth  her  child 

God  hears  the  penitent  prayer. 
And  not  forever  shall  grief  be  thine; 

On  the  Heavenly  Mother's  breast, 
Washed  clean  and  white  in  the  waters  of  joy 

Shall  His  seeking  child  find  rest. 


66        HYMNS  OF  THE  BRAHMO  SOMAJ. 

Console  thyself  with  His  word  of  grace. 

And  cease  thy  wail  of  woe, 
For  His  mercy  never  an  equal  hath, 

And  His  love  no  bounds  can  know. 
Lean  close  unto  Him  in  faith  and  hope; 

How  many  like  thee  have  found 
In  Him  a  shelter  and  home  of  peace, 

By  His  mercy  compassed  round! 
There,  safe  from  sin  and  the  sorrow  it  brings, 

They  sing  their  grateful  psalms, 
And  rest,  at  noon,  by  the  wells  of  God, 

In  the  shade  of  His  holy  palms! 


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